Housewarming
The porch swing is old and rusty, and it creaks loudly when I sit down on it. I’m not sure I trust it to hold my weight, but it’s the only seat in sight and I need to rest my legs for a few minutes. With precious little help from my brothers, I’ve spent the better part of the morning and afternoon cleaning out this house in preparation for his arrival. The old refrigerator we hauled over from our studio has barely cooled my Dr. Pepper, but it’s enough.
With a long sigh, I lean my head against the faded wood slats and begin to rock the swing back and forth. It feels a little childish, but I’m okay with that. I glance down at my phone again, hoping for another text, but it’s only the same message from nearly two hours ago, telling me that they had just pulled into a rest stop outside of Oklahoma City. From touring with Everybody Else, I knew that Austin was a very slow driver, so they could still be miles away from Tulsa.
I could still hardly believe I had talked Carrick and Austin into this move. Sure, it was probably temporary. They were only renting this old house, not buying it, after all. But working through the details of signing to 3CG and recording an album in Tulsa would keep them here for a long time. Whenever he had visited for Fools Banquet, Carrick had joked about Tulsa being a town full of hicks. He wasn’t the midwestern type, he said. But he was now, whether he liked it or not.
There really hasn’t been much in my life to get excited about for a while. Having my best friend – aside from my brothers, of course – living so near me and recording in my studio is definitely worth being a little giddy about. Work is as good as ever; meaning, actually recording and playing was awesome, while the rest was tedious as hell. And home… is just quiet. Even with two babies in the house, the silence is deafening sometimes. I try not to think about that too much.
I finish my Dr. Pepper and stand up to go retrieve a second, and hopefully colder, one from the kitchen when the U-Haul finally rolls up the street, stopping me in my tracks. I raise the hand not holding an empty can high and wave, hoping he sees. The U-Haul slides to a stop in something that vaguely resembles parallel parking, and I don’t have to guess who’s driving. The drivers’ side door flies open and he slithers out of the truck’s cab, already looking like he owns Tulsa and sporting a pair of ridiculous pink sunglasses.
“Carrick!” I call out, crushing the soda can in my hands and tossing it aside before rushing down the porch steps to meet him halfway.
He’s standing in the middle of the street, which luckily isn’t a busy one, just taking it all in when I reach him. He throws both his arms around me and I can’t help wrapping mine around him and lifting him up off the ground. The boy weighs next to nothing anyway, so it’s not like I’m straining myself. He laughs over my shoulder. “Good to see you too, Zac.”
I set him down and glance around, realizing Austin is nowhere to be seen. Carrick must see the question on my face, because he doesn’t even give me a chance to ask. “Oh, I left him at the last gas station with the van. He’ll get here when he gets here.”
I finally look Carrick over, as though he might have changed since the last time I saw him, just a few short months ago at SXSW. The decision to sign Everybody Else came that weekend, in a haze of music, alcohol and various other substances. We parted ways on such a huge high over the idea, and then went back to the drudgery of our normal lives – although, admittedly, all the preparation work for such a huge change in the record company kept things from being too dull.
He looks the same as I remember. Tall, impossibly thin, and dressed like some skater-hipster hybrid. I can’t decide if he looks horribly out of place on this street, or if he brings an amazing light to it all that makes everything better than it was before. I’m thinking it’s actually a little bit of both. On my second glance over him, I notice a little something tucked behind his ear – beautifully hand rolled in his favorite papers.
I lean in closer to him and lower my voice, even though there’s no one around to see or hear. “Carrick – you, umm. There’s a joint behind your ear.”
He chuckles and runs his hand through his hair as though he’s forgotten it was there. “Oh, right. I was gonna smoke that somewhere around Amarillo but I decided to wait for you. You know, christen the new house.”
I have to shake my head and laugh at that. Only Carrick would think of that. I clap an arm around his shoulder and pull him toward the house, intent on doing exactly as he suggested. We awkwardly walk up the sidewalk arm in arm, across the porch and into the house. Carrick glances around at the living room, scratching his head.
“Not bad,” he says.
I shrug. The house came with very little furniture, so what’s there now is a combination of those old couches and chairs and whatever else I could cobble together thanks to my family’s habit of hoarding everything we’ve ever owned. It’s not much, but Carrick’s easy going enough to be happy with whatever life hands him. I try to be the same way, but it doesn’t always come as easily.
He sinks down into the couch like he’s sat on it a thousand times before and beckons me to sit next to him. I shuffle across the room and sit down, glad to rest my legs once again. I lean my head back against the couch cushions and let out a long sigh as I watch Carrick light the joint and take a hit. With a hint of a smirk on his lips, he passes it to me.
It’s been a long time since I’ve smoked. I have a few friends in Tulsa who are more than willing to fulfill my needs, but it’s still too much trouble trying to hide it from Kate. It’s not exactly fun lying to my wife, so I try to avoid it as much as possible. I don’t need any more guilt eating me up inside. When we’re on the road, though, I let myself go wild — if getting stoned, playing video games and eating junk food is all that wild.
I have a feeling my drug habit is going to get worse with Carrick living so close, but right now I don’t care. I accept the joint as soon as it’s offered and bring it to my lips just as quickly. Carrick buys his from some guy who grows it all organically in this little backyard garden – I fucking love California – and it’s so much nicer than the stuff I usually get around Tulsa. It’s deceptively smooth but strong, though, and just one hit has me feeling blurry around the edges.
I pass the joint back to him and watch the way his cheeks go hollow when he takes a drag. We continue the same pattern for a while in silence, just enjoying the weed and each others’ company. I can be talkative at times, but sometimes it’s nice not to say a thing at all. Carrick gets that, even though I have no doubt there are a million things he’s dying to say.
We’re about halfway through the joint when he starts fidgeting around and clearing his throat. It’s kind of funny to watch, the way he struggles not to speak when it’s so obvious that he really wants to. You can almost see the words, like actual, physical things, threatening to burst out of his every pore.
“So, how are things in T-Town?” He finally asks, chuckling a little at the affectionate name for the town that he’s already adopted after so many visits.
It’s not a loaded question, but it is. When we talk, it’s mostly about music, but sometimes he pushes me to talk about more serious things. I can’t hide from him; he always knows when there’s something on my mind. The weed doesn’t loosen my tongue like it does Taylor, but it does make it easier to say what I feel without over-thinking it.
“Things are alright,” I say, struggling for the words to fully explain just how not alright things actually are.
“Yeah?” He replies, one eyebrow raised. It’s enough to let me know he doesn’t believe me. He’s right not to.
I grab the joint and take a long hit just to buy myself time. Carrick’s eyes are on me the entire time – not judging, just waiting. I hold the smoke in as long as I can, until my eyes are watering and my lungs screaming. When I can hold it no longer, I exhale and return Carrick’s stare. “Things aren’t really that good. It’s awful being stuck here with both of them.”
He nods knowingly. Carrick is the only person who knows my secret, knows who I mean when I talk about the two of them. I think he noticed it on his own before I dared say a word, but he waited for me to trust him enough to talk about it. I was drunk off my ass and scared to death when I admitted to him the deep dark feelings I kept hidden from everyone else, but Carrick took it in stride, like everything else that came his way.
“I bet Kate’s really happy about me moving here,” he remarks with a chuckle.
I return his laugh, but not as heartily. Kate can’t stand him. It’s mostly the weed and the partying that she knows I’m drawn to whenever Carrick’s around, but it seems like there’s something else. It’s like she’s jealous of our friendship. Maybe she should be, since in at least one way, he knows me better than anyone else in the world. I manage to give him half a smile. “She’ll get over it. It’s not up to her, anyway.”
He nods again, but I can see that beneath the jokes he is somewhat bothered by her disapproval. Or maybe he’s just bothered by her. The two things are kind of one and the same, anyway. Something flickers in his eyes and I imagine I can actually see his train of thought moving along. His smile is gone completely now. “And how about Taylor?”
I sigh. I knew he would ask; it was my own fault for mentioning both of them in the first place. Taylor was my secret. I didn’t trust anyone but Carrick with the truth of my awful feelings for my older brother. It wasn’t the kind of thing most people would understand, and I still couldn’t really fathom how or why Carrick did. But I didn’t take for granted how amazing he was for helping me bear such a heavy load.
“Taylor is… the same as ever. Infuriating. Ridiculous. He’s just Taylor.”
How else could I explain something like that? I wasn’t supposed to feel the way I did about him. I wasn’t supposed to live for his smiles or ache for his touch – though he’s never touched me in the way I wanted. It started when we were young, as nothing more than the sort of sibling worship I imagine most kids experience. Taylor was magnificent; he was talented, driven, eternally optimistic, and capable of making anyone fall in love with him with little more than a shy smile.
When I was 11, at the very beginning of all the madness in our lives, I went to Taylor full of questions about girls. He had a girlfriend for the first time and I was jealous, though I’m not sure I knew then whether I was jealous of him or her. Time has erased the conversation itself from my memory, leaving only the one moment that changed everything – when Taylor kissed me.
We never spoke of it again, because how can you talk about something like that? I knew it was wrong in the same way that I knew lying and stealing were wrong, but it didn’t feel wrong. It felt like home. It awoke something in me that I’ve never been able to satisfy, an ache that no one else but Taylor can ease.
When I see that Carrick is still staring at me, waiting for me to say something else, I smirk and add, “Oh, and he’s renewing his wedding vows soon.”
Carrick sputters and coughs, the hit he was trying to hold in forced out into the air, where it floats away quickly. I pat him on the back softly, and although he recovers quickly from the cough, the shock doesn’t leave his eyes. Once he regains his voice, he says, “That had to be Natalie’s idea.”
“Of course,” I reply, then add a little more spitefully, “Anything to prove they’re still in love.”
If Carrick notices the venom in my voice, he doesn’t remark on it. He knows all too well how I feel about Natalie and the marriage she all but forced my brother into, the one he constantly seems to forget he’s in. Apparently, four kids and ten years isn’t enough for her, and soon they’ll be walking down the aisle again. From the outside, I’m sure the ceremony will look romantic and heartfelt, but I’ll only be able to see it for the farce it really is.
Carrick lets me have the next hit, giving me plenty of time to savor it before he speaks again. “Are you ever going to tell him how you feel?”
I shake my head vigorously. “No way. Especially not now.”
“I just worry that someday you won’t be able to hold it in anymore,” he says, looking thoughtful. “That kind of secret could kill a person.”
I can only offer him a shrug and a grin. It’s been killing me for years, eating away at every little bit of happiness I’ve ever felt. Even when everything else in my life seems perfect, these feelings for Taylor are still gnawing at my mind, refusing to give me any rest. Carrick sees the look on my face and shakes his head when I try to offer him the joint, so I suck in another long hit. My mind is blessedly numb now and very nearly empty. For a while, at least, I’m free of Taylor.